top of page

Eurydice, at The End [Ovid, X: 1-85]

by helen jenks

There is always a river, that first boundary of shape,

preventing the crossing. See April, this disruptive

season, how the water swells and roils against its

keeping. Perhaps it was the Liffey first, and then the Seine;

now, the Styx, returned to other vestiges: a letter,

a brooch, a gentle kiss along the mountainside. Must

you go where I can’t follow? Even the rivers know

what it is to be so loved, curling into the sea. Your

footsteps ahead, alone in the dark –– what other role is

meant for me? Walk on, let us both swallow down our love.

When you left, I left too. Not to run, but to remind myself

what is worth keeping. Turn back, the air is changing. I am

where I always have been, dying and dying again. Turn

back, there is too much space. Stop, the light is blinding —

I cannot see you. Turn back, please, it’s me. I am holding

out my hands. I have a poem waiting for you, my heart, too.

Turn back, turn back, turn back, turn back

Please ––

Turn back, dearest, if just to say what was worth losing.

It’s only love, in the end.


Image by Bree Anne
bottom of page